fear – an unlikely attempt at a break-in, for instance – what could Mildred have done to avert it?
Really, he must take himself in hand. This was part of his job, the job he had chosen and which he loved. There was some risk attached to absolutely everything you ever did. Look at all those humdrum years of commuting on the London Underground, and it was the merest chance that he hadn’t happened to be at Kings Cross at the time of the fire …
*
It took the best part of an hour to get right round and some of the tasks – the fixing of the great wooden shutters against the main windows, for instance – were quite heavy. He shouldn’t be having to do them on his own, not really. Gus, the night watchman, should be helping, but of course Gus wasn’t here, hadn’t been for months. Whether he was still on the payroll Arnold couldn’t guess and he didn’t dare ask as the question might stir up awkward enquiries from Them about who, actually, was in the building at night? They would then learn not only that Gus wasn’t, but that Mildred wasn’t either, and where would that leave Arnold and his career as a caretaking couple?
And anyway, no harm was being done. The exhibits weren’t at risk in Arnold’s sole charge; he was perfectly capable of being careful for two. Extra careful, as a matter of fact, because he was the one who loved the exhibits. Hepaid far more attention to his duties, he felt sure, than that Gus could ever have done, hunched up in that over-heated cubby-hole of his with his tins of beer and his Racing News. Not even reading it, asleep mostly, so far as Arnold had been able to ascertain; but anyway it was weeks since there’d been any sign of the fellow. Whether the man had been sacked, taken ill, or dropped dead, Arnold had no idea. Good riddance, anyway.
Lovingly, delicately, he began his final task, that of shrouding the waxwork figures in dust-sheets for the night. He began at the far end of the table, with poor little Lady Jane Grey, her white, waxen hand for ever poised, on the eve of her death, over the newly-translated Protestant Bible; and to his dismay Arnold found that his own hand was very slightly trembling as he tweaked the dust-sheet into position over the silent figure. Reaching back across four and a half centuries of wars and conspiracies and revolutions is perhaps a disturbing action for anybody’s hand.
Ridiculous, all the same. He wasn’t going to give in to it. He set himself to drape the other figures in a brisk and business-like manner, with no nonsense. All the same, you couldn’t quite keep emotion out of it, so alive the figures looked in the half-light, as they submitted so quietly to being enshrouded. He felt, for one foolish moment, that he ought to apologise to them.
The mere thought that it would be possible to do this, to speak aloud to them in the echoing great hall, filled him with extraordinary panic, and it was all he could do not to turn tail and run; along the whole length of the gallery, the great oak doors swinging shut behind him, and then down, down the spiral stairs, round and round, down and down …
But of course he did nothing of the sort. He kept his dignity, moved at a measured pace through the remainder of his tasks, and left the building in good order, locking thedoors behind him. By the time he had crossed the moonlit terrace and reached his own little flat his breathing and his heart-rate had quite returned to normal and he settled down to enjoy the remainder of the evening in the deep, comfortable arm-chair alongside his hi-fi set, the curtains drawn against the night, and his reading-lamp throwing its soft light into every corner.
This was the time of day when he both missed Mildred and didn’t miss her. He didn’t miss the blow-by-blow account of the day’s disasters in the Tea Room: nor did he miss the tearful reproaches for ever having brought her here in the first place; But he did miss her physical presence. Not that they
Really, he must take himself in hand. This was part of his job, the job he had chosen and which he loved. There was some risk attached to absolutely everything you ever did. Look at all those humdrum years of commuting on the London Underground, and it was the merest chance that he hadn’t happened to be at Kings Cross at the time of the fire …
*
It took the best part of an hour to get right round and some of the tasks – the fixing of the great wooden shutters against the main windows, for instance – were quite heavy. He shouldn’t be having to do them on his own, not really. Gus, the night watchman, should be helping, but of course Gus wasn’t here, hadn’t been for months. Whether he was still on the payroll Arnold couldn’t guess and he didn’t dare ask as the question might stir up awkward enquiries from Them about who, actually, was in the building at night? They would then learn not only that Gus wasn’t, but that Mildred wasn’t either, and where would that leave Arnold and his career as a caretaking couple?
And anyway, no harm was being done. The exhibits weren’t at risk in Arnold’s sole charge; he was perfectly capable of being careful for two. Extra careful, as a matter of fact, because he was the one who loved the exhibits. Hepaid far more attention to his duties, he felt sure, than that Gus could ever have done, hunched up in that over-heated cubby-hole of his with his tins of beer and his Racing News. Not even reading it, asleep mostly, so far as Arnold had been able to ascertain; but anyway it was weeks since there’d been any sign of the fellow. Whether the man had been sacked, taken ill, or dropped dead, Arnold had no idea. Good riddance, anyway.
Lovingly, delicately, he began his final task, that of shrouding the waxwork figures in dust-sheets for the night. He began at the far end of the table, with poor little Lady Jane Grey, her white, waxen hand for ever poised, on the eve of her death, over the newly-translated Protestant Bible; and to his dismay Arnold found that his own hand was very slightly trembling as he tweaked the dust-sheet into position over the silent figure. Reaching back across four and a half centuries of wars and conspiracies and revolutions is perhaps a disturbing action for anybody’s hand.
Ridiculous, all the same. He wasn’t going to give in to it. He set himself to drape the other figures in a brisk and business-like manner, with no nonsense. All the same, you couldn’t quite keep emotion out of it, so alive the figures looked in the half-light, as they submitted so quietly to being enshrouded. He felt, for one foolish moment, that he ought to apologise to them.
The mere thought that it would be possible to do this, to speak aloud to them in the echoing great hall, filled him with extraordinary panic, and it was all he could do not to turn tail and run; along the whole length of the gallery, the great oak doors swinging shut behind him, and then down, down the spiral stairs, round and round, down and down …
But of course he did nothing of the sort. He kept his dignity, moved at a measured pace through the remainder of his tasks, and left the building in good order, locking thedoors behind him. By the time he had crossed the moonlit terrace and reached his own little flat his breathing and his heart-rate had quite returned to normal and he settled down to enjoy the remainder of the evening in the deep, comfortable arm-chair alongside his hi-fi set, the curtains drawn against the night, and his reading-lamp throwing its soft light into every corner.
This was the time of day when he both missed Mildred and didn’t miss her. He didn’t miss the blow-by-blow account of the day’s disasters in the Tea Room: nor did he miss the tearful reproaches for ever having brought her here in the first place; But he did miss her physical presence. Not that they
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